Embers and Scarlet Castles
by Luckyisthename
Summary: A decade after the tragic fire that burned down his home, Brand leaves his foster home in Berlin to enroll as a meister in Death City, Nevada's DWMA and discover the reason for the flames. An OC oriented Soul Eater fanfic.


The pen sat motionless as he stared down the printed paper on his lap. All columns were checked, all applicable fields were filled, and all lines had a string of words above them; except for one. He twirled the pen around his thumb as he thought and thought, but the letters he was looking for to place on the lonely line escaped him. There were several items on the paper that led to long answers, some even made him stop to think for a few seconds; they all paled in comparison to this one particular item and it only needed two words. Even though it was only two words, those two words had already consumed 14 minutes.

He glanced up at the desk in front of him; the lady was glaring at him, an apparent scowl on her. His eyes retreated, pretending that they never saw her intent to kill, but he still felt it. He was using her pen to fill out the paper before him, and judging by the pile of folders on her desk, she needed it.

"When will you be finished?" she inquired. He frowned; she didn't sound too happy. She had every right to be upset, though, as he was taking too long to fill out a simple registration sheet. He gripped the pen knowing that it was the cause of her impatience.

_Shoulda had more pens_, he thought to himself as he slumped back in the cushions of his chair. The pen danced around his fingers, the light gleaming off its sleek, black surface, as he spun it in his right hand; the lady's eyebrows just seemed to lean closer together. He put on a smile, a great show, as he answered, "It might take a while."

There was a disturbance in the force. There were no signs, no visual aids, no warnings. It was instantaneous and it hit him hard; the lady _glared_ her killing intent at him and he felt something burn through his forehead. But it was only for a brief moment as she quickly rode his charade.

"Is that so?" She wore the same fake smile as he did but it was more akin to baring her fangs. He didn't know what part of his brain said it, either the instinctual side or the rational side, but it told him to give the fucking pen back.

"I'll pass it later," he said hesitantly as he arose from his chair. He placed her "precious" on her desk and walked down the short hallway. _What a typical desklady._ His steps echoed down the hall as he made his escape.

"Please pass it in before lunch!"

"She sure sounded cheery," he muttered under his breath. His application form hung loosely from its corner as he held it in between his fingertips.

As he approached the corner, a distinct tip-tap bounced to his ears; dress shoes. He sighed and focused his vision forward, thinking, _Must be another god damn desklady_. Deskladies, who filed papers all day, had nothing better to do but gossip with each other. He was sure, absolutely sure, that the grouch at the lobby would talk about him and gloat to the assumed grouch around the corner. Sighing again, he grabbed the edge of the corner and swung himself around.

He froze in place and his grip on the wall tightened, stopping him where he was. It took his brain a second to process, but the fragrance of roses that stuck in the air answered the question before it could even be asked. It was a splinter of a glance; blonde hair and glasses in a white coat passed him by. He listened to the reverberating taps from earlier grow farther behind him. They stopped abruptly and a gentle voice spoke.

"I'm here to finalize my personal information for my enrollment."

He released the wall and continued to the exit. It wasn't a desklady - it was another enrolling student, an enrolling student that smelled like roses and wore a lab coat. That wasn't what made him stop, though. His interest came from behind thin-rimmed lenses; it made his heart skip its rhythm by a beat. Her eyes stupified him in the fraction of time that he witnessed them. They were...

"Vermillion."

* * *

Death City, Nevada was different in every way to his hometown of Berlin, Germany. While Summer was warm in Berlin, Nevada was burning. The Sun's expression was so clear with the skies so open and cloudless. With DWMA's height, the Sun's smug mug was practically in the face of anyone who dared look up. Even though the city was in the middle of the desert and DWMA's steps rivaled a tower in tallness, it wasn't as hot as it was supposed to be. It was hot, but it wasn't _that_ hot. This was one of the first things that he had picked up on the day that he had arrived; the desert's sweltering temperature had dropped when he had set his first steps into the city's atmosphere.

Rather than surprised, he had felt reassured - he had interpreted the feeling as Death City's welcome. His journey to Death City had been, ironically, hellish. After bidding his foster parents farewell, he had entered his plane around 8:30 pm. At 9:00 pm, he had bid Berlin goodbye as well as his plane soared into the black skies of the night. With nothing else to do and with the relaxing hum of 500-600 mph, he had slept throughout the whole flight. By the time he had reclaimed consciousness, the plane had already landed. It was around 11:00 pm when he had arrived and he was groggy. After he had been ushered out, trouble had come. His flight from New York to Las Vegas had been canceled as the pilots had been discovered to have been intoxicated. With no other choice, he had been given a flight to Los Angeles.

After a sleepless flight across the U.S., a boring wait through the early morning for a coach bus to Death City, a noisy drive during morning rush, and the endless sands of the desert, he had finally arrived at the outskirts of Death City. He had been in awe when the city's image came into view; he had seen several cities on the internet but none had been anything like the "Oasis of the Desert".

24 hours later, he was sitting at the top of DWMA's infamous endless flight of stairs, viewing the city's rooftops for the second time. He recalled dashing up the stairs and then sitting in the same spot where he was now the day before. In a mirror of that moment, he stretched his legs out and repeated his line, "So many skulls."

By the location of the Sun, it was around 1pm, way past lunch, and his form was still incomplete. He sighed at the thought of the desklady and how infuriated she would be when he got back. He had been thinking about the last item he needed to answer since he had left the lobby, but his mind remained blank. It got to the point that it stressed him out, so he took a break. The view of the city was the most calming thing that he could think of, yet his mind still wandered.

He lied down on the dusty stone floor of the court, indifferent to the several pebbles that stabbed at his back. The night before was not kind to him; he had slept immediately after he had found his dorm. He had woken up around 3:00 am, starving with sore legs. The closest area still open with food was a 7-11 10 blocks away from the foot of DWMA. Even then, his "dinner" had been two hot dogs and an unfamiliar drink called Death Cola. He did not sleep again afterwards but had spent his time making a mental map of the city area in front of DWMA. Unfortunately, Death City's streets were like a maze, twisting into forks, intersections and dark alleys. He had been lost until he had found the main road that led straight through the middle of the city. In retrospect, he regretted doing it as a nauseating buzz now tormented him. Covering his eyes from the Sun's triumphant figure with his hood, he closed his eyes "for just a moment"...

* * *

A heavy crackling in his ear slowly dragged him back into consciousness. His eyes creaked open and an orange ember greeted him. The air was thick and a dark cloud of smoke hovered above his head. He was face down on a warm wooden floor and it was littered in rubble and charred shards of wood. A rough feeling was apparent on his skin; he was coated with soot. The crackling in his ear grew louder and the flame before him rose, a breath of heat caressing his cheeks.

It was a punishment to breathe as choking smoke invaded his lungs as he inhaled and his mind became more weary with every intake of the poison. His limbs were powerless and it took his every will to flip himself over on his back; his arms were several times shorter than he remembered them to be. A grandfather clock hovered about a foot above his chest with its golden pendulum eerily swinging. A wooden wall covered in a green diamond design that was peeling off was to his left and a staircase engulfed with flames was to his right. A steel handrail hung loosely over the grandfather clock's original position - the staircase's side - and glowed brightly with reflected fire. The grandfather clock's tattered head was broken off and it lied on the tilted remains of its body that leaned on the wall; it could fall at any moment.

His surroundings were familiar. The staircase burning to his right, the wall creaking to his left and the grandfather clock that threatened to crush him, he recognized and identified them all as "the hallway". He knew, for some reason, that the pendulum missed its every third click; he knew, mysteriously, that beneath the wall's cover was its true nature of white paint; he knew, surprisingly, that every odd numbered step of the staircase would whine loudly if the center was stepped on; and he knew, enigmatically, that the front door was a mere 8 feet from his head. The building he was in didn't look like it would last any longer and the clock was just about ready to give way.

He crawled slowly against the scorched floor. Ashes showered him from the ceiling and blazing, small chunks of the house fell on his straight path to the door. Every grasp forward was laborious and every pull forward was arduous. An inch closer to his salvation was an inch closer to death for him.

A loud crash came from his right; it was the opening to the living room and a television just fell, blocking his view inside. The television's monitor was sprinkled all over the floor and his arm. The glass blades were still searing hot and burned into his skin. He gritted his teeth and ignored it; he had little to no time for the pain. As if nothing happened, he dragged himself along.

He found himself at the foot of the door. The ordeal was painstakingly long, but he made it. A small ray of light seeped in through the edges of the door; it was open. With what little might he still had left, he shoved the door open and he basked in the freedom of release. He rolled himself out of the doorway and exited the inferno into a cold brush of grass. He was burnt out and with his safety secured, his strength faded away. His eyelids began to droop and they wanted to surrender. Before succumbing, he turned his head towards the burning house. The fire did not breach the front, but the roof was already like an open oven. Smoke escaped through the broken windows of the second floor and blotted out the sky directly above. It was a single patch of darkness in what was otherwise a perfectly sunny day. With nothing left to keep him awake, he kept his eyes on the house as the curtains drew to a close. Then he remembered. Through a dry and cooked throat, a realization forced its existence as the stage's spotlights dimmed.

"This is my house."

* * *

"So many skulls," a calm voice said. It was a nice voice, one that wasn't bad to listen to. It was a voice that was serene and elegant yet remained complete and unforced. He woke up to it and it wasn't a stranger to him; he had just heard it a few hours ago. He propped himself up on his elbows and a lab coat waved silently next to him. He removed his hood and blonde hair and glasses were above him.

She was just standing there, her gaze on the city below and a smile that was true. Her eyes, as bright as the Sun above them, were so focused and sharp and he knew instantly that what he saw in the lobby was correct. Vermillion was the perfect word to describe her and he wouldn't change his mind regardless of if he learned her real name or not.

He didn't know if she was talking to him when she spoke, he wasn't sure either of if she noticed him, but she began to descend to the city. Her hair bobbed with every stop down and her ponytail and lab coat fluttered against soft winds. He watched her leave until she was beyond his range of sight, disappearing back into the world. He knew he would see her again when classes began and the fact that he still wasn't finished registering removed itself from its hiding place. Sighing, he took a gander at the form still pinched between his fingers. He stared silently at the blank line, searching for inspiration - a burning house came to mind. He scowled and picked himself up from the floor. It was a distant memory, but it always came back to him and at the worst times. It was always so vivid and he'd have to relive the whole experience; from waking up under the old, redwood grandfather clock to his detour through hell.

He had a grim expression on as his eyes lost focus, his mind lost in the flames. The fire took everything from him but, unlike others, he didn't blame it on a supernatural entity. He didn't push it onto God, destiny, faith, or bad luck.

He blamed it on himself.

With a swift brush-through of his hair, he dashed off towards the inside of DWMA.

The lobby soon came into view down the hall and two deskladies were chatting there. He made a straight-line for the table and the desklady from earlier quickly noticed him. She had the same, awful look on her from before and seeing him in a rush just served to make her look completely irrate.

"I thought I to-," she began but he ignored her obvious rant and snatched her pen. The flames took away everything that day, but they gave him something back. He scrawled the two words hurriedly onto the blank line and then slammed the paper down onto the white desk.

"I'm done," he stated and pointed at the top of the form. On the line designated as "_Desired Name_", fresh ink spelled out "_Brand Hitzig_".

* * *

The prologue to what I have planned as a very long story. My goal right now is to have each chapter be at least 2,000 words. For this reason, I may not be able to update weekly.

A quick shout out to the Soul Eater Alternative forums. Unfortunately, I can't link their site.

I RP and hang out there regularly. I'm also planning to beta release there updates to this fanfiction a day or more before its official release here on .

All constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated; be as cruel as you can be!

-Lucky


End file.
